Meridian Nights
by Syvia
Summary: The natural order is not vampires preying upon humans, but hunters preying upon the hunted. Come and see the world of Blood Omen 2 through the eyes of both.
1. Welcome to Meridian

Copyright © 2002 by Syvia (Aka Rebecca K. Friedrick). All Rights Reserved.

Disclaimer: I don't own Blood Omen 2 and I don't own the stuff in it, I don't own the Twilight Zone, or anything in _it_, etc. etc. etc.

Important Notes

Like I've said before, I've been having a good old time playing Blood Omen 2, and I just had to write a few things about it. 

This will slowly become multi-chapter, and is more or less a small collection of non-relevant events from Blood Omen 2, as told through the eyes of the soldiers and civilians of Meridian and the other various places seen in Blood Omen 2. If I write something that is a _definite_ spoiler from the game, then I'll warn you at the beginning of the chapter.

I'll be happy to take suggestions on what kind of characters to write about, or what kinds of scenarios to do... for example... a couple of Sarafan Guards get into a fight with Kain... some passerby sees Umah on the prowl... a vampire fledgling sees the interaction between Kain & one of the Sarafan's Vampire helpers, things like that. The more you know about Blood Omen 2, the more suggestions you'll be able to give. ;-)

Uh... I guess you could compare this to a series like the Twilight Zone? *plays theme music* 

Do not attempt to adjust your computer. You are entering a dimension of blood and gore. You are in, _the Meridian zone_. *plays theme music again*

Welcome To Meridian

_My name is not unknown to you, but let us leave it in the shadows for a while. Know that I am one who has lived many years... and seen many things. In such time, one comes to realize where one resides on the food chain, and in realizing this, having no illusions about it, comes the best chance for one's survival. _

_In Meridian, there is one order- the natural order. It is not Vampires preying upon Humans... the natural order is infinitely simpler. In the end, matters of race, species, sex, class... none of them matter. There are Hunters, and there are Prey. _

In the darkness of night, hunters pursue their prey, and those hunters, in turn, are themselves pursued. In Meridian, one of the strongest hunters in history lies in stasis, his powers diminished. 

But he will awaken... and he will awaken with the need for blood. Who will fall under his claws... and who will escape his never-ending thirst?

Those who understand the natural order understand this; when you are hunted, you run, or you fight. The one who wins is not good or evil, only the superior hunter. The hunter who is superior over all_, is the one who survives. _

Let us examine a few of the hunters, as well as the hunted. Let us see who is superior.


	2. A Rabbit Escapes the Trap

Disclaimer: I don't own Blood Omen 2. etc. etc. etc.

Author's Notes: There shouldn't be anything overly surprising in this chapter, and remember, some of this info is just assumed from things you hear in the game, some is unfounded. *flashes poetic license*

A Rabbit Escapes the Trap

_Not everyone in the slums is down on their luck...._

Many of the prey go there to hide. 

Dulce was one such as that.

She first smelled the scent of danger with the arrival of the draft papers... the death warrants in disguise. In the case of her _family, first it was the brothers. The older, then the younger. She ceased to think of them by name. For, surely, she thought, they were already dead. _

They left home, and were never heard from again. When it was Dulce's turn, her father protested. 

A girl, and their one remaining child, and still the Sarafan demanded even her _service in battle. They knew what it was like for the soldiers. Death was inevitable. On the off chance that one survived to be elevated in rank, they would surely die to appease the vampires' rage at the Sarafan._

Dulce's father protested when her draft papers came, and they took him _instead. Where, they do not know, but he is... _was_, far too old to be a warrior. They did not hold out much hope that he survived. Her mother wept for him, and for Dulce; for she fled the lower city when night fell. Dulce imagined that her mother still kept the store, if the Sarafan have not taken it from her._

_Her new life, even more than the old, was about survival. You fight for nearly _everything _in the slums, and if you don't fight, you steal. You stay away from dark alleys and keep your head down. You sleep little and lightly. _

It's a dangerous life, but death was less certain for her there than it would have been had she stayed in the lower city. At least in the slums, they do not search for you. The demon-worshippers of Nosgoth would not find her there... although was always the chance that something else might_._

*****

Dulce's feet pounded against the broken cobblestones, her breath coming out in short pants. Her chest and legs ached and each breath she took burned trails of fire down her throat. There was no getting out of this, she knew, but she kept running, listening for the loud footfalls of the thug behind her. 

"You can run, little girlie," he laughed, "but you can't hide." 

Dulce was aware of that fact. The question going through her brain at the moment wasn't, 'Will I escape?' It was more like, 'Will I survive?' 

Dulce was quick, and her speed was what had kept her alive for the few months she had lived in the slums. She had adapted well to this new world. After all, the rules were simple. If you stole food, you ran. If a thug wanted something you had, you ran. 

If you could run fast enough, you escaped, and got to live another day. If they caught you, and took what they wanted, it was a tossup whether or not you would come out of the experience alive, and if _alive_, sane.

Usually Dulce could outrun the thugs. She was lighter and faster. She could also creep into passageways that had openings too small for a man to fit into. But this one-

Dulce couldn't shake him. His build was similar to hers. He was a pickpocket, perhaps, or a cat burglar, and he ran as fast as she did. Dulce had no illusions about what he wanted. 

She had not been carrying any food or anything that could be mistaken as valuable. The pickpocket had seen the pale, pretty, unscarred face of a woman under the rags and smudges of dirt that were common fashion accessories in the slums. 

Dulce had seen him leering at her out of the corner of her eye... had watched as he sauntered over to her and reached out to wrap a hand around her arm. She had watched, and waited.

When the thug was only a hairsbreadth from taking her arm, she'd shoved the heel of her palm into his nose and her knee into his groin. Usually that was enough to take a man down for as long as it took her to get safely away. This man had been ready for such an action. Dulce's knee had hit metal; a codpiece worn to protect against that specific form of attack.

So while he had shouted and grabbed his nose, he was still standing and able to run after her, which he had.

Dulce turned blindly down an alleyway and her breath caught in her throat. He'd chased her into a dead end. She sank into the darkness at the end of the alley, turned, and froze, keeping her breathing as quiet as she possibly could. The thug hadn't seen her run into the shadows, and although that would be the first place he checked, perhaps she could surprise him and still get away. The thug's footsteps slowed and he chuckled, knowing she was trapped. 

The tip of a knife appeared around the corner of the street a few moments before its owner. The thug was smiling in anticipation.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he taunted softly. 

Dulce backed up slowly, trying to calm the thunderous beating of her heart. She held her arms out to her sides, bent her knees a bit. The thug licked the blade of his knife, teasingly. 

"Come, girl... let us have a bit o' sport..." 

Dulce backed up another step, her lip curling in disgust. The next thing she knew, there was a hand over her mouth, and an arm pinning her hands to her sides.

"Do not speak," a woman's voice breathed in her ear. "Be still, keep your wits about you... and you may live to see another dawn." 

Dulce stayed in the shadows, frozen by fear, as the arms dropped and the unknown woman walked past her. The thug, confronted with this new menace, stopped, uncertain. Dulce got a better look at the woman in the meager light of the alleyway.

She was slightly less than average height, had skin as white as marble. The woman was clad in what looked to Dulce like little more than a set of violet undergarments, nylons and a small cape. There was some kind of armor on her right shoulder, and a formidable pair of metal boots encasing her legs from knees to toes.

The thug ignored all of this and decided that this woman was no threat. He smiled again. "Well what have we here?" the man grinned.

The woman chuckled softly. "A girl who wants..." the woman paused for a moment, looking for the right word, "a bit of sport."

"Well I can give you some o' that," the thug said, leering at her. He took a few steps forward.

"Yes..." the woman murmured sardonically, "I am _sure _you could." The thug stepped up to her. She placed a hand on his dirty leather jerkin. That was when Dulce saw it. The woman's nails were thick and black, filed to sharp points. Dulce's next breath shook as she realized the nails hadn't been _filed_ at all. That woman was a _vampire_.

*****

_I remember having the opportunity to see a Hunting game, played by a group of nobles. Sometimes, to catch a fox... they would release a rabbit. When the hunter had cornered its prey and moved in for the kill, the nobles would act, moving in for their own kill, and spearing the fox. It was amusing, I must confess, to see the panic in the eyes of the fox in the moment it had gone from hunter, to hunted._

*****

The woman dug her nails... no, claws, into the man's clothing and lifted him a full foot off the ground. His eyes bugged out in fear.

"Is this not what you had in mind?" the vampire purred. She drew back her arm and tossed the thug into the wall behind him. His back struck stone, then his head, and he slid down the wall to kneel dazedly on the ground. 

"Such a brave creature," the vampiress murmured, "attacking one weaker than yourself." She drew him to his feet, punched him in the stomach, and threw her foot up and around to connect with his jaw.

Surely she was being _gentle_. Dulce had heard that vampires could snap a man's jaw with a single kick. The girl stood frozen in the shadows as the vampiress beat her attacker into unconsciousness. Dulce moved forward slowly, froze again as the vampire turned to look at her.

She swallowed heavily. "Now what?" the girl breathed.

The vampiress gave her an analyzing look, and then a small smile. "Now you go on with your life, as he shall not." Then she picked up the thug and settled him easily on her shoulder, and, without a backwards glance, ran off into the night. 

Dulce closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and left the alleyway. 

*****

_And so the rabbit escaped a trap._

_I know not if Dulce still lives, or _how_ she lives. I know only that she did not die _that_ night, or the next. If she lives still, it is because she leaned well the art of hiding and running. Such tactics can be effective if properly utilized. I have seen _many _old rabbits in my time._

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So guys, what do you think of this? ^_^


	3. A Chameleon in the Graveyard

Copyright © 2002 by Syvia (Aka Rebecca K. Friedrick). All Rights Reserved.

Disclaimer: I don't own Blood Omen 2. etc. etc. etc.

Author's Notes: There shouldn't be anything overly surprising in this chapter, and remember, some of this info is just assumed from things you hear in the game, but some is completely unfounded. *flashes poetic license*

Alright! I'm reaching out to new audience members. ~_^

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Shadow66- *grins* Well... Dulce's story is over, but lots of other stories have yet to be told. 

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Esoteric- *hugs* Of _course _you want to see Marcus! *lol* True- there is a narrator... but his/her bits are going to be shorter in some of these chapters. Note: There's more than one person who _could _be telling this story. I haven't actually decided who it is, although it's a very knowledgeable and powerful person, obviously. ^_^ And you are most welcome. 

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Snark v2.0- And behold, the voice of the creator screamed back, and in her scream were four words, and they were- I'M WORKING ON IT! *lol*

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DHA- *lol* Wow, that's a tall order, but I'll do my best.

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Ranmyaku- Thank you! ^_^ I'm watching for your fics as well, remember that. :-D

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Natasha Compagnon- Thanks!

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Megara- *lol* Your suggestions are good anyway and thank you for them! 

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FireFX25- Hi-eeeeeeeeeeee! *grins* Sorry- I needed motivation. Didn't get it until recently. ^_^ Awww, I'd never ignore you! Thanks! 

Wow... it took me a while to get back into this. *sighs, shrugs* Well, I did say it would be a slow process. But now, (three months later) in honor of FF.net's reopening, here's the next chapter. ^_^

A Chameleon in the Graveyard

_One may believe, for a time, that they possess the role of hunter. Death often comes upon them unexpectedly, for they do not protect against it, or if they do, their protection is proof merely against those predators that are similar to themselves. Their ignorance regarding the more dangerous hunters is their undoing. Sometimes, when focused on their prey, another hunter will appear that they were never aware of._

Ket had been a member of the Graverobbers' Gang for at least thirteen years. These hunters did what their name suggested. They accosted Grave Diggers while in the process of filling in new graves and pillaged the corpse for valuables. Similar treatment was given to the gravedigger. If a mourner was found alone in the graveyard, they too were robbed of any useful possessions. 

Ket worked the night shift, as did they all, waiting for prey to come across him, detaining them when they did. Tonight seemed the same as any other night... it was not.

*****

There was mist tonight. It lay over the ground, thick and heavy, obscuring the grass. Ket wondered to himself why the keepers went to the trouble. It wasn't as if there were plant-life anywhere else in the slums. Most people who came here came to see this funny green stuff that grew out of the ground- not the carved stones dotting the small hills here and there in the landscape. Ket looked around from the shadow of a small mausoleum, listening.

There was no noise. No cawing of birds, no footsteps. He was alone for the moment. How boring. He took to studying a tombstone that sat close to him. The yellowish stone was weathered by time and abuse from his own spiked club. Despite the tedium that sometimes ensued, Ket liked his job. It was easy work, peaceful, and appealed to his morbid sense of humor. There were those who still buried their dead... a fair amount, enough to keep him in a fairly profitable business anyway. 

More and more of the city dwellers had taken to cremating their deceased, the purpose being to keep their loved ones from being turned into vampires. Ket laughed at their stupidity. How could vampires raise the body when everyone knew the beasts couldn't tread on Holy Ground? Although he personally wondered just how 'holy' this ground _really _was.

His eyes searched over the silent earth. Mist rolled and coiled about the ground, pale white, no substance, yet thick enough at times to veil the land in its pale embrace. Ket could see it creeping over the earth, moving steadily about. It was a foolish thought, he knew, but there were times... when the mist seemed almost alive. A small sound came from his left.

The thug whirled about and bared his teeth in a feral smile. The peasant caught his breath, stammered a few incoherent negations, mouth open, hands up in a defensive manner. 

*****

__

A true chameleon changes, not at will, but with its emotions. Blending with its environment infrequently, if at all. Vampires, if they live long enough, or have power enough, master the art of disguise. One can have the finest spell of illusion at their disposal, and give away their true selves with an unconsidered word and a violent action. One must learn to disguise all aspects of themselves to fool the wary. 

The chameleon, also, is not one of the greatest hunters, but at the time of his reawakening, neither was the hunter who is the subject of our tale. He killed in stealth in order to regain his strength and hide from greater enemies. Why waste blood in killing a lowly dog when a panther awaits you further along your way?

*****

The thug smiled and tucked another purse under his belt, watching amusedly as the young couple rushed away from him. Despite the slow start, it had been a prosperous night. Ket grinned and jingled his belt pouch gently. He'd gotten more in two hours than in the last three nights combined. 

He was pleased enough with the evening's take that there was no need to stick around. Ket decided to call it a night... go find a cheap mug of ale... maybe a cheap whore to go with it.... Ket smiled to himself. He turned around, and came face to face with a city dweller. Well... one more couldn't hurt. 

"Greetings, friend," he smirked. "Might I have a moment of your time?" He advanced on the man, who was shaking with fear. Ket hefted his club and unconsciously flexed his muscles. "We can do this one o' two ways... ye' can hand your gold over easy-like," his grin widened, "or I can bat you around for a while." 

"I- please, I haven't anything of importance, sir, I-"

Ket laughed. "It's the ones who make excuses that usually have the best loot. Now hand it over before I smash in your face and take it off your dead body," he said, swinging his mace to emphasize the point. "What's one more corpse in a graveyard?"

Shrinking away from Ket, the old man reached into his pockets. He brought out a handful of brass coins and a small, greatly tarnished, silver pocket watch. Ket dropped the coins into his belt pouch and examined the timepiece. 

"Me granma's... it don't even work no more..." the man murmured a tad wistfully.

"If it did, maybe you coulda avoided meeting me," Ket smirked. "Right, now the rest."

The man looked up at him, startled. "But I haven't got anything else-"

"Come off it, old daffer. You wouldn'ta given up your grannie's watch if you hadn't been holding something more important. Now give it up."

The peasant reached a shaking hand into his pocket and brought out a small glass phial. Ket snatched the bottle out of the man's nerveless fingers and examined it. "What's this? Some kinda perfume for your woman?"

The old man laughed nervously. "It's cheap and smells so bad that I don't know why she wears it."

Ket didn't believe him. "Then you don't mind if I smash it?" he asked, drawing his arm back.

"No!" the old man cried involuntarily, reaching out for the bottle. Ket gave him a questioning look and the peasant realized his mistake. "It's medicine for my son," he admitted softly.

"Then it'll fetch a fine price," Ket chuckled, tucking the phial into his belt pouch. 

The city dweller seemed to gain some backbone and stepped forward, reaching out to him. "Please-" Ket looked at him, making the man pause, but the old one persevered, "please, my son is very ill... he'll die without that potion, I-" He looked up into Ket's uncaring face and trailed off, his eyes burning at the injustice of the world.

"Consider yourself lucky, old man," Ket smirked. "You still have your life. It's dangerous to wander around Meridian at night..."

"Indeed," a soft voice murmured beside his ear. Ket flinched in surprise, then gasped as a sudden, intense pain blossomed in his back. His head, jerking on his neck, tilted downward long enough for him to notice the mist, coiled around his feet. The pain continued for a few moments- he dimly realized someone was screaming- then there was nothing.

*****

_Screaming, his clothing splattered in blood and gore, the old one took in the sight of pale white fingers, topped with black claws, which were curled around Ket's still throbbing heart. He gasped as the hand dropped the spurting organ and faded back into the mist. _

The mist, he realized, was the key. Our prey turned and ran from the softly flowing current of air and moisture. He ran to a corner of the wall, put his back against it, and screamed again at the sight of a pale, fanged man drinking the thug's blood. Our hunter spared him not a glance, but lifted Ket's club from the ground and walked off into the night.

After a time, the old man gathered his courage and took back the objects Ket had taken from him... as well as the rest of the pilfered valuables. 

The old man's son grew well again with the aid of the precious medicine and they lived. How long, how well, I know not. But they escaped one predator with the aid of another, acting as a chameleon in the graveyard.

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*smiles* Liked it? Review please! 

See- I'd just finished the latest chapter of RB and felt the need to murder someone horribly to relieve stress. Ket was elected. *pats the corpse (with a bloody hole in his chest) on the back, who falls to the floor with a loud thud* Don't mind him. :-p

Again- Reviews? :-D


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